Maleficient
by Lapis Love
Summary: Written for Klonnie Appreciation Week. She has all the tools she needs: blood of the originals, a familiar, and she's a Bennett. Nothing will stand in her way of breathing life into one of the horseman of the apocalypse. But to control him, she has to bond with him, and Niklaus Mikaelson is not one to be taken on lightly. AU/non-canon.


**A/N: This is several days late and doesn't really hit on any of the themes for Klonnie Appreciation Week, but I wanted to try my hand at something. This will only be two parts and after I update 30 Shades of Red, I'm going on hiatus. This is a gift to anyone who loves Klonnie but especially to JazzyWazzy08 and E.A. Brown. Love you ladies. **

**This story doesn't follow canon, but I have borrowed some pieces of canonical story lines. I mix and match and dabble. But mostly try to look at this as a mash up of Sleepy Hollow meets Vampire Diaries, kind of. Just read it, lol. Thanks!**

Disclaimer: These characters are the creative property of LJ Smith/CW Network. No copyright infringement is intended.

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><p><strong>Paris, France <strong>

The chime of the grandfather clock told the hour. Low conversations, the bellow of male laughter, the sound of cards being shuffled and dealt as money was lost or won in dizzying amounts filled the main billiards room of the privately owned and operated The Grand Mason Huntsmen Club.

Aubusson rugs were thrown atop the dark mahogany floors, gas lamps burned in every corner. Outdated green velvet drapes with gold embroidery dressed the floor to ceiling windows, and gave off the pungent odor of time.

The place was as ancient as its clientele. Its membership consisting of dukes, earls, the occasional eastern European prince, gentlemen of society who stole their fortune, made it off the back of slavery, indentured servitude, human trafficking, prostitution, and bootlegging.

The dirtier the background the more prestigious the blood was their motto.

Several floors above in one of the private offices, Philippe Valmont—procurement specialist took off his spectacles, withdrew a monogrammed handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket, and began to clean the lenses. He gazed at the river Seine. Though it would appear his mind was preoccupied with some other business, he was very much focused on the other occupant in his office, sitting in one of the studded leather wingback chairs. A chair that had supported the weight of men with more power and money than they had common sense not to waste it.

"The amount you're paying is astronomical," he turned from the window and slid his glasses back on his beak-like nose. "It's just a bloody coffin."

The scratch of the quill on parchment ceased and dark viridian eyes snapped up towards Philippe. Her head tilted in such a way he got the distinct impression he was being measured for a coffin, or at the very least trying to ascertain how many cement blocks it would take to make sure his body sunk to the bottom of a river.

The man instantly swallowed, cheeks blotted red.

"And if the cardinals shared your attitude and said to Pope Julius II 'it's just a bloody ceiling' would we have the Creation of Adam decorating the Sistine Chapel?" dipping the quill in the inkwell she continued scribbling. "What may be a coffin to _you _is highly valuable to _me._"

Philippe cleared the nervous tick from the back of his throat. "Well, nevertheless, your generous donation will keep the doors of this private establishment open for generations to come. Though," he sauntered to his chair and stood behind it, using her distracted state to ogle. "I am curious why you're not interested in the remains of the knighted saint George de Medici. We've had many buyers mostly from the Vatican interested."

"I have no need of saints for the moment," she sat the quill aside, and held up the parchment for Philippe to proofread.

Sitting behind his desk now, Philippe carefully removed the document out of her possession, read over the words spelling out the contact, and finally added his signature. He heated a piece of red wax over a candle's flame, poured the melted substance on the bottom of the parchment, and then slid off his signet ring, pressing the metal into the wax.

The transaction was now complete and The Grand Mason Huntsman Club was officially twenty-five million dollars richer.

He tried not to smile too broadly, but knew the secret investors would be pleased with this latest financial boost. If anything, Philippe couldn't escape feeling he was robbing the impeccably dressed African American woman sitting opposite of him. Who shelled out this kind of dough for a coffin? A coffin that probably contained nothing special than decomposed ash of a nameless Parisian peasant.

Snatching up the receiver of his phone, Philippe called to have the coffin transported to the waiting van the buyer had the foresight to rent prior to coming here. He conducted the conservation in brusque tones and promptly hung up.

"I feel I must apologize," Philippe shook his head and sat the document aside. He would have his assistant quickly file it away.

"Apologize? For what?"

"Excuse my being frank, mademoiselle but between the two of us I feel as if I'm getting the better end of a deal."

Bonnie Bennett imitated Mona Lisa at the same time she rose to her feet. She pulled down the sleeve of her satin black and white stripe blazer, before running her hands over her blood-orange pencil skirt to smooth away any wrinkles. "You would feel that way. That coffin is a thousand years old and made of the second strongest wood known to man, lignum vitae," she sighed. "You've tried to open it?"

"Plenty of times but no matter what tools have been used…" Philippe lifted his shoulders. "No luck."

"Consider it a blessing in disguise it couldn't be opened." Pause. "How long have you been the procurement specialist?"

Philippe sat back in his chair. It squeaked in protest. "For the last fifteen years. Before that I was a valet…a…what you Americans would call a personal assistant for five years."

"So you have secrets?" Bonnie's manicured nails fingered a miniature bust perched on the corner of Philippe's desk.

The movement drew the man's attention and for some unexplainable reason he could swear he felt her hand touching his privates. Clearing his throat again, Philippe tugged at his tie, and wondered if maintenance had turned up the heat in the building. He was starting to perspire.

"Secrets, madam?"

"Yes secrets," Bonnie clarified in a voice that brokered no argument.

Philippe smiled uneasily. "I may have learned a thing or two. Overhead some _confidentiel _conversations. But my allegiance to this place, of course, has prevented me from profiting financially from what I may have heard, or been a witness to."

"Allegiance is a funny thing, Monsieur Valmont. I feel allegiance, fealty, it can all be bought at a high enough price. Some want money; some want blood, some want money and blood. That's why I prefer bonds. They're much stronger, harder to break. Can be infinite. Allegiance is finite. That coffin…is my bond."

Philippe was perplexed by the idea and easily wrote it off as the ramblings of a silly American with nothing better to do than spend her family's cash. Or whoever money it was she just used to cut a check.

The grandfather clock struck again. "Well," Philippe pushed to his feet. "If there is nothing else I can help you with," he held out his hand. "It's been a pleasure."

Bonnie took his proffered hand blindly and pumped twice before letting go. "You've served me well, Monsieur Valmont. Thank you."

"No, _merci beaucoup," _he escorted Bonnie to the door after she collected her tablet. Strange she didn't travel with a purse, but Philippe shrugged it off.

Opening the door, he smiled once more at Bonnie. She really was a beautiful woman with asymmetrical features, but otherwise lovely bone structure, and the most interesting pair of hazel-green eyes that appeared to see more than what was right in front of her.

She unnerved Philippe. As stunning as she was he got a distinct feeling that Bonnie wasn't some harmless businesswoman collecting relics.

Bonnie advanced but then stopped before leaving the office altogether. She spied Philippe over her shoulder.

For his part Philippe began rubbing the palms of his hands. They were itching but the more he attempted to quell the itching, it would only increase and not before long his hands felt as if they were on fire.

Bonnie turned and observed him. His skin began to pulsate, bubble, fear sparked in his droopy brown eyes.

_Tick. Tok. _

"I forgot one other thing. I never had any intentions of paying for the coffin. The document," she lifted a hand and sent it up in flames which then began eating the rest of the desk paraphernalia it could get its hot teeth on. "I can't, in good faith, give money to an organization that once supported the Nazis, Mid-Atlantic slave trade, human atrocities on a global scale. I guess you should know this is the final day this place will be fully operational. Good day, Monsieur Valmont," Bonnie slid on her shades and strolled out of the office.

Philippe crab crawled to his desk in spite of the immeasurable pain sacking his limbs and vital organs mercilessly. He reached for the silent alarm buzzer, and pressed it hoping security would stop that bitch before she vacated the premises.

What he didn't know, every single guard was knocked out cold and hog-tied.

Outside, Bonnie rounded the building and saw her men loading precious cargo into the back of the van.

"You sure it's him?" Malachi sidled up to the stylish witch.

Bonnie held a hand over the coffin and the magical feedback she received answered that question. "It's him. We need to go," she handed the tablet over to Malachi before climbing into the passenger seat of the van. "Clean them out."

Smiling and cracking his knuckles, Kai as he preferred to be called, began systematically emptying out every domestic and off shore account of the club and some of its members, while also sending criminal documentation to Interpol. If that did any good would remain to be seen.

* * *

><p><strong>Nova Scotia<strong>

A splitting headache caused Qetsiyah to wince, shut her eyes, and curse wretched murder. She was a gotdamn goddess! Okay, maybe in theory. That, unfortunately, didn't stop her from being congested. She shouldn't be dealing with human aliments like the common cold. Qetsiyah hadn't had a good night's sleep in the last two days, and when she sneezed she wholeheartedly expected her heart to come flying out of her chest.

Someone, one of those witch bitches had to have placed a hex on her to throw her off her equilibrium. She needed to think properly and was finding that almost impossible. One minute her body felt as if it caught aflame, and the next her teeth rattled as if she had been shoved outside in a blizzard.

Sneezing into a tissue, Qetsiyah moaned and quickly doused her hands with gel sanitizer. "I'm going to gut Silas like a fish," she seethed. "I know he's behind this."

Damon Salvatore glanced up from the book he had been reading and frowned. "You say that every single week and guess what? The asshole still lives."

Qetsiyah scoffed, "Would you like to take his place then?"

"And be the object of your weird obsession, no thanks. I have enough crazy chicks wanting me dead on my hands as is. No vacancy for one more. Sorry."

"I'm going to figure out a way to get rid of you for good," Qetsiyah promised.

Damon beamed. "Good luck but seeing as I was handpicked to be the Bennett's protector, you can't get rid of me so easily."

"Thanks for reminding me that I need to have a serious talk with my descendant Emily. She's been quiet lately. Laying low."

"Because she knows what's coming," Celeste sauntered into the room holding two beers. She extended one to Damon who plucked it from her grasp.

Qetsiyah's brow crumbled. "Are you on about that again?"

Celeste snorted rudely and guzzled her beer. "You still refuse to take me seriously? When's the last time you made contact with Bonnie?"

The room went absolutely silent at the question. Damon flicked his gaze between goddess and witch. He sure as hell didn't have an answer for the question. Bonnie had cloaked herself in some pretty strong wards, which made tracking her akin to trying to find known terrorists.

Ever since the first witch known to myth made a splash in the modern world and declared war on her greatest enemies, travelers, the supernatural community had been divided into sects. Those Qetsiyah labeled loyalists (witches) and separatists (everyone else). Bonnie, one of a million in Qetsiyah's bloodline was supposed to be a general, but after losing her entire family in the war, decided she had enough and branched out on her own.

The balance of power was shifting. Families were being torn asunder since a compromise between spirit magic and pure, traveler magic couldn't be reached peacefully.

Not many shared Qetsiyah's desire, views, or ideology. She wanted sole ownership and credit while others wanted her to pay for the endless bullshit that happened as a result of spirit magic. Werewolves wanted her head for the suffering they endured during full moons. Vampires wanted her drawn and quartered for making it fatal to walk in the sun, and succumbing to werewolf venom—though to be fair those side effects for immortality weren't expressly her fault. Witches whose magic was limited and dictated by the spirits wanted free of bondage, and saw Qetsiyah as the sole reason for those limits. Humans who were hip to what was going on just wanted everything nonhuman to be wiped off the face of the earth.

Therefore, some felt a supernatural apocalypse was on the horizon. But here was the question? Who was going to shoot the first shot?

"Damon," Qetsiyah worried her teeth into her bottom lip. "Find Bonnie."

"We've been through this I don't know how many times. The girl is beyond shielded. If _you _can't find her what makes you think I will fare any better?"

The sorceress faced the vampire. "All you have to do is kidnap the doppelganger and she'll come out of hiding."

Damon laughed wildly. "The doppelganger that's heavily guarded by Markos and his body jumping fanatics. Pass. Send Stefan's ripper ass. He has nothing better to do."

"Never," Qetsiyah shook her head. "I'm not giving Markos both doppelgangers. Their blood will only make him more powerful, and he can start the undoing spell all over again."

What she wasn't going to tell Damon was that his brother had gone missing a few weeks ago. That was a conversation best saved for a much later date. But Qetsiyah was doing what she could to find Stefan.

"You can get to the Gilbert girl," the goddess reassured.

Celeste interjected then. "You're wasting your time." Qetsiyah and Damon swiveled their heads in her direction. "In case you've forgotten but Bonnie and Elena fell out shortly after her dad was murdered on a stage in front of the whole town. Elena had been too busy protecting Katherine from Silas and as a result, Mayor Hopkins got his wig split…throat I should say, by your ex," the younger witch pointed at Qetsiyah. "Those two haven't talked since then, and I doubt Bonnie will come running simply because Elena's in trouble. Losing her dad was the final straw."

Damon pondered Celeste's assessment thoughtfully and reached the conclusion she was right. A childhood friendship that had been strained with the emergence of the supernatural, pounded into relentlessly with one slight over another, Damon had been shocked those two remained as tight as they did after Bonnie came into her powers at sixteen.

She was twenty-two now and he hadn't seen her in the last fourteen months. He only hung around Qetsiyah and her harem of has-been witches and warlocks hoping he could get a lead on her current whereabouts. Otherwise he'd be in much better company having a far better time being bad.

Before she disappeared, Bonnie had been dabbling in a darker form of magic that went hand-in-hand with human sacrifice. Since then, she ceased being that bubbly and judgy girl he had gotten to know when he moved back to Mystic Falls to uphold his promise to Emily Bennett to protect her line.

Qetsiyah, Silas, Markos—the trifecta arrived and flipped the world on its axis. Folks were scrambling, double dealing, no one could be trusted. Damon knew he was only seen as valuable for as long as he could provide muscle.

"Then," Qetsiyah moved over to her working table and started mixing ingredients, "if Bonnie won't talk to her former friends, maybe she'll talk with her grandmother."

"Sheila?" Damon questioned. "I thought she moved on to the great beyond?"

"She didn't, but Bonnie doesn't know that."

Celeste and Damon watched as Qetsiyah made a tonic and consumed it. Her body began jerking and contorting while gurgling sounds from her mouth filled their ears. Minutes this lasted where Qetsiyah seemed to undergo a transformation. Limbs shortening along with her hair which became shoulder length, curlier, and speckled with gray. Overall frame becoming less goddess and more wizened femme fatale. When it was over, and she turned for the big reveal, Damon's jaw dropped. The resemblance was uncanny.

Sheila Bennett stood in front of him. "Now let's find my granddaughter."

* * *

><p><strong>Dusseldorf, Germany<strong>

"Is it me or does this feel like the unveiling of Darth Vader?" Kai joked and promptly shut his mouth at the death glare thrown his way via one Bonnie Bennett.

The handlers unloaded the coffin and placed it on the altar in the middle of the mezzanine. Bonnie didn't move until they were gone, had received cold hard cash as payment. Their memories were promptly wiped clean by her familiar, Stefan Salvatore who just so happened to be a vampire.

He stared unhappily at Bonnie to which she understood that look to mean he was hungry, and upset she didn't allow him to feed on one of the hired men.

"You'll get to feed. Soon," she crooned.

Stefan didn't believe her. Bonnie would let days pass before giving him a blood bag. If he was exceptionally well-mannered she'd permit him a sip or two of her blood. It kept their bond strong, she had explained. But Stefan usually tuned her out as he fought not to drain her dry, or hump her into oblivion during those special occasions.

He regarded her through narrowed eyes, Kai too. Stefan couldn't stand the way the boy looked at Bonnie as if he wanted to lick the sweat off her body. He didn't exactly hold that against Kai as he'd had similar thoughts; nevertheless, Stefan didn't trust the warlock as far as a fly could throw him. Something just wasn't right about him. No one with a shred of dignity should be so eager to be treated and talked to like shit on the bottom of a shoe. But Kai seemed to thrive off on it. And this made Stefan wonder how many screws he had loose.

Kai was a liability. But he ignored the warlock for now.

The coffin in the center of the room gleamed onyx to Stefan's vampire eyes. He speculated on who or what lied inside. Dracula? Another witch? He swallowed when Bonnie shed her suit blazer revealing the sleeveless sheer blouse underneath. If it weren't for her bra, her breasts would be totally bare.

With each step of her four inch pumps on the mosaic tile, a blood red candle ignited. There were twelve each, positioned in a circle around the coffin.

"Stefan?" Bonnie called.

"Yes?"

"Can you get the blood of the four, please?"

Shamefully hearing her say 'please' made pleasure course though Stefan. He disappeared from the mezzanine and wondered down to the barracks of the castle they were squatting in this week. Covering his hands with heavy-duty rubber gloves, and an industrial face mask with a plastic visor, he unlocked the holding cell door and waltzed inside.

Four cells contained one member of the Original vampire family. Rebekah. Kol. Finn. Elijah. They were deep under a stasis spell, the cell bars coated in vervain, but Stefan remained vigilant as he went to each sell, and filled individual test tubes with their blood.

Trapping them hadn't been easy and nearly cost him his life. That's what he, Bonnie, and that annoying asshole Kai had been doing for the last six months. Tracking down the Originals, picking them off so Bonnie could raid their thoughts, and storing them away for later use.

For a minute Stefan thought of sinking his fangs into Rebekah to get a taste, but Bonnie would know, and she could be very mean yet creative when vexed. Best not to tempt fate.

Upstairs, Kai switched his weight from foot to foot. "What do you think waking him up is going to accomplish? I still believe we don't need him. We have the Mikaelsons. They can rip your great…whatever to pieces like that," he snapped his fingers to illustrate his point.

Bonnie stopped staring at the coffin and zeroed her gaze on Malachi. "You think I'm doing this for revenge or something petty along those lines?"

Malachi shrugged. "You haven't been confiding in me like you usually do. So no, excuse me for not knowing exactly what your big plan is."

"When did I ever confide in you? You're a fourth generation warlock who has no power of his own. In fact, I really _don't _need you."

Kai held up his hands. The last time Bonnie said those words to him she sent an axe hurtling into his chest. Then his secret was exposed. Manmade tools couldn't kill him. He smiled charmingly, ignoring for the time being his excitement had little to do with the implied threat on his life.

"Simmer down, boo. As much as you don't need me, I need you. My dashing good looks don't seem to get you off, but I know being needed is your weakness. That's what gets you in the mood."

"Kai…shut up."

He was saved from farther chastisement when Stefan reentered the picture carrying four vials of Original blood.

"You sure you have everything you need?" the former ripper questioned.

"I have the blood of the Originals who were used to seal his coffin. The doppelganger of the first ever immortal as my familiar, and I'm a Bennett. Those are all the ingredients needed to get this thing to open."

"I normally don't agree with Kai, but I don't think you should go through with this, Bonnie. We don't know what we could be unleashing into the world. He was locked inside for a _very_ good reason, I'm sure."

"Do you trust me?"

Forehead crumbled with concern, Stefan nodded despite his misgivings.

Bonnie said nothing, merely held out her hand.

Sighing, Stefan handed over the first vial of blood to Bonnie.

She poured the blood on top of the coffin. The second it began to sink into the hidden crevices in the wood, Bonnie began chanting the spell while drawing energy and power from her familiar.

Stefan expected this to drain him but instead it was like an infusion. The more Bonnie used him to harness her magic, the stronger he seemed to get and could funnel that power back into his mistress. It was an endless current and something that made him feel drunkenly connected to Bonnie. Herculean powerful to the point if he stomped his foot on the ground he could turn this entire place to rubble.

Kai looked on in mild jealousy. Did Stefan really need to look like he was seconds away from nutting?

Once the final vial of blood had been emptied on the coffin, the candles burned rapidly, the wax melting to nothingness as if they were being superheated.

Blood began to trickle from Bonnie's nostrils. Hot wind whipped her hair around, and fire raced in intervals across the room. Kai hopped out of the way to avoid being burned.

"Bonnie!" he tried to get her attention.

Stefan's eyes rolled into the back of his head. He couldn't feel the floor under him, and when he fell the sensation wasn't any different than falling off the top of a skyscraper. Of course he dropped unconscious in less time it would take to fall several stories.

Bonnie was shouting at the top of her lungs, over the roar of the wind that sounded more like plane engines. She demanded the coffin to open. Breath was robbed out of her and something sent her hurtling backwards through the air. The wall broke her fall.

"Oomph," the breath was knocked out of the witch.

Kai rushed to her side and helped Bonnie to her feet.

"Did it work? Did it work?" she asked impatiently.

"I don't know and I don't give a shit. We should stop," Kai advised.

The hood of the coffin clicked open, but only a crack. He and Bonnie stilled.

Pushing out of Kai's grasp, Bonnie walked over to the coffin. Her hands shook a little as she lifted the hood.

"The fuck?" she cursed.

Kai sprinted over. "What?"

The coffin was empty.

"I don't understand," Bonnie spoke through gritted teeth. "I felt him. He was here. He was locked inside!"

"So where is he?"

"Get Stefan off the fucking floor," Bonnie ordered ready to rip something a new one. This wasn't making sense. He should have been inside!

Kai shifted and then felt something heavy clamp down on his shoulder. His head was jerked painfully to the right before two sharp teeth were plunged into his neck.

"Ackkkkk…."

Bonnie whirled around at the sound of Kai's croak and blinked. His feet dangled a few inches off the ground but nothing visible was holding him.

Kai was dropped unmercifully to the floor, convulsing, and bleeding out. Bonnie barely registered that as her gaze was stuck on the man materializing before her eyes.

A very _naked_ man.

Long feet, runner's legs, well-formed thighs, a cock that looked dangerous even in its flaccid state, narrow hips, developed abdominals that contracted with each inhalation, pecks with dime size toffee nipples, a tattoo of some sort on his left shoulder, corded veins rushing up his forearms, biceps, a wide neck, square jaw covered with short sandy blond hair, full red lips currently covered in blood, aquiline nose, hooded tawny on black eyes, and blond locks that swept his shoulders.

This was him. The man she had been dreaming about that could help her turn the tide on the war.

The man fell to bended knee, heaving for a breath.

Bonnie drew closer seeing his muscles rippling under his sinewy skin. He was trying to fight the change. The animal that dwelled within the man. Right now he was highly unstable and volatile but she knew he wouldn't hurt her. At least she hoped not.

He began speaking gibberish in a language Bonnie had no knowledge of. But whatever it was, sounded amazing falling from his lips.

His head jerked up, rooting Bonnie to the spot. She decided to address him in Latin and hoped he'd understand her.

"Do you know who you are?"

He blinked at her uncomprehendingly. Her language…sounded familiar. Her voice…he had heard it before but he couldn't for the life of him say where. Where was where? Where was here? How much time had he lost? His memories were lost to him. Yet it paled to the unquenchable hunger shredding his stomach making him rapacious for the sweet metallic taste of blood. He pierced his eyes closed.

His senses were on overdrive. He could hear everything! Smell everything!

It was too much at one time and it was making him sick with nausea. He needed a fixed point, an anchor. Very slowly, and carefully he opened his eyes and lifted his head.

He hungrily eyed the woman and drew his tongue deliberately slow over his bottom lip. The blood, her style of dress leaving not much to the imagination amplified the urge to hunt, feed, and…fuck. Yes.

Bonnie gulped at deciphering that glint to his tawny eyes. But in order for the bond between them to be made solid, he'd have to have her blood, and she his, and they would need to be connected. Intimately connected.

There was time for that later.

Drawing on her history with the Originals and knowing they were Vikings, Bonnie recalled phrases she had learned in the event she'd actually need to speak the old language.

"Do you know who you are?" she took her time speaking in his native tongue.

At first nothing came to mind. Odin's blood! he could scarce remember anything other than a strong sense he had been wronged, betrayed. By whom and for what? He hadn't a clue.

Maybe this waif knew the answer.

"I know not who I am," he finally spoke, the sound of his voice sounding strange and off to his own ears. But had he ever heard it before?

Bonnie took a step closer. "Then let me tell you. You are Niklaus. You're the strongest of the strong, and one of the oldest of the old. You are both vampire, werewolf, and witch. You were feared because you shouldn't exist. Locked in a spelled coffin, but I freed you because I need you."

"Who trapped me?"

"Someone who is long dead."

He pondered her words, narrowed his eyes. "You freed me? You need me? Why?"

Bonnie came even closer to where only inches separated them. She was surprised but then not so at feeling his piping hot body heat. "You're a horseman. _My _horseman. The horseman of war and death. Shall we get started on ending the world?"

Chapter end.

**A/N: Is Bonnie really talking about ending the world or something else? What exactly has driven her to this point? And isn't it interesting that Klaus was the one locked in a coffin all this time. How are we feeling about the Qetsiyah/Damon/Gloria partnership, and Stefan as Bonnie's familiar? I just felt like being totally random in this. Nevertheless, love you guys. Thanks for reading and please, let me know what you think. **


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